


Don't Look Down

by beetlejoos



Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: BAMF Malcolm Bright, Gen, Gil Arroyo Needs a Hug, Whumptober 2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-02
Updated: 2020-10-02
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:21:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26763526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beetlejoos/pseuds/beetlejoos
Summary: Gil gets into a spot of bother.Malcolm helps him out of it.
Comments: 32
Kudos: 68
Collections: Whumptober 2020





	Don't Look Down

**Author's Note:**

> This is a quick fic I ended up writing today for the start of Whumptober! 
> 
> Based on Prompt No 1. LET’S HANG OUT SOMETIME - Shackled

It’s been a while since Gil let a suspect get the better of him on a chase, and he’s kicking himself before he’s had time to blink the stars out of his eyes. He comes to with his face pressed into the carpet, a solid weight on his back crushing the air out of him, while cold metal is slipped over his wrists. It takes him a second to make the connection, to fire the command down from his foggy brain to his body and by then it’s too late to resist: the cuffs are locked tight, hard enough to bite into his flesh. He hisses in pain as the weight shifts off him and a hand pulls him stumbling to his feet.

His legs feel steady enough under him, enough to make him conclude he’s escaped a concussion and was merely stunned by the sudden _smash_ to the back of his head. Their suspect, Jasper French, steps back and eyes him, panicky as a cornered animal. He’s unarmed but for the lamp he’d swung so effectively at Gil’s skull a minute earlier… until his eyes fall on Gil’s gun, lying where it fell on the floor.

Gil pushes down his fury that he’s been restrained _with his own damn cuffs_ in favour of trying to calm the guy down before things can get even worse.

“Jasper… let’s not do anything stupid here,” he says, with as much authority as he can muster. “My team are gonna be here any moment. You come in quietly and it’s gonna do a lot to help with your sentencing. You don’t… and it’s only gonna add to the charges. You don’t want that, I know you don’t.”

Jasper picks up the gun and looks down at it. His hand is shaking violently. “Jasper,” Gil tries again, “I know you didn’t mean to kill the girl. She was in the wrong place, wrong time, right? It was an accident - we both know that. You pull that trigger now, it’s no accident.”

“No,” the man moans, “I can’t, I can’t go to jail… it wasn’t meant to happen like that - “

There’s a sudden hammering on the apartment door. The gun jumps in the man’s hand and Gil’s heart jumps along with it.

“ _NYPD! Open this door!”_ It’s JT’s voice and Jasper darts forward, grabbing Gil by the arm and dragging him as far away from the door as he can. “I have a hostage!!” he shouts, edging backwards until he’s pressed against the window, Gil held in front of him like a human shield.

The knocking stops for a second. “Boss?? You in there?”

Gil can’t risk answering, not with the gun wavering violently in his peripheral vision. If Jasper ended up shooting him now, he wouldn’t even be entirely sure if it was intentional.

“Jasper? Open the door and we can talk!”

Jasper doesn’t reply. Gil can practically _hear_ the man’s mind whirring behind him. “Don’t make this any worse for yourself,” he says softly, but the gun just bumps against his temple by way of response.

His team are clearly tired of waiting for an answer. There’s a heavy _slam_ against the door - _JT, probably trying to kick it down_ \- but the door is covered with a mad patchwork of bolts and chains, enough to hold back a small army. Gil hears JT’s muffled swearing, and another voice - Bright.

He has just enough time to send up a quick prayer of thanks that _he’s_ the one who got here first, not anyone else on his team, when Jasper’s pushing up the window sash behind them. They’re high enough up that the sounds of the city are muted, but there still must be a fire escape because a second later the gun is jabbing him in the ribs, pushing him towards the open window. “Move,” mutters Jasper, “outside, come on —“

Gil knows every extra second buys his team a chance to somehow get that door open. He moves hesitantly towards the window, looking for the fire escape —

But there’s nothing out there. No stairs, no balcony - just an interrupted wall of brick stretching vertiginously down to the distant concrete below. He jerks back and the gun jabs him again, harder this time. “Onto the ledge,” Jasper hisses and _no way, absolutely not, there is no way in hell he is doing_ _that._

“No,” he growls. There’s another _bang_ from outside.

“Move or I’ll shoot,” says Jasper and Gil looks at him incredulously.

“If you wanna kill me, then go ahead and shoot me,” he snaps, too shocked by the idea of what Jasper’s proposing to speak more measuredly. “I’m not dropping thirteen stories onto concrete!”

“We’re not dropping - we’re moving,” says Jason, already half out of the window, his arm wrapping round Gil’s bicep to yank him out after him, and that’s when Gil sees it - the tiny - _tiny_ _, it can’t be more than a few inches deep for christsakes_ \- ledge that extends from either side of the window ledge, wrapping around the sides of the building in a neat stone stripe. If they were very, _very_ careful, a particularly bold cat burglar _might_ consider inching along the ledge to get from one apartment to another. _Possibly_. If they were insane.

“You can’t be serious,” he says, his breath catching in his throat at how _goddamn stupid_ this man’s plan is. “Jasper - just think about this. We’ll never make it across - “

The gun smashes into his temple, sending him stumbling. He rights himself just as the gun materialises again, right in front of his face, trembling so violently he can barely focus on it. Then the safety clicks off.

_Oh, crap._

The black hole of the barrel dances in front of Gil’s eyes, a messy, violent death lurking just behind it and to his outright horror he realises that he has _no choice_ here. There’s a sound from the corridor outside, and Gil’s eyes flick back to the door for just a second, praying that it might miraculously burst open _right now…_

But it doesn’t.

Reluctantly, he steps up onto the window ledge. Jasper’s hand has him in a death grip, but it’s just as well: with his hands shackled behind him, he’s unable to even grab the window-frame to steady himself. The man beside him looks increasingly unhinged: sweat rolling down from his hairline, his lips pulled back in a snarl of panic. All the same, Gil keeps his eyes on his face. There’s nothing beyond him to focus on except wide, empty sky.

“Move,” says Jasper again and Gil just stares at him, as if by force of will he can somehow _make_ the man change his mind. But the hand on his arm shoves him forward without releasing him - not hard enough so that he falls, but enough to make it clear that’s the next item on the agenda if he doesn’t comply. Gil swallows and looks down at the ledge to his right.

It’s narrow enough that he can’t walk along it straight. Even if he inches along it crab-ways, his back to the wall, the tips of his shoes are going to be sticking out over the edge.

It’s easily the most physically terrifying thing he’s ever done, to stretch his right leg out slowly and shift his weight onto the ledge beside him. “Faster,” snaps Jasper, jiggling impatiently, his eyes darting back to the room behind them where his team must be trying to figure out how to get past all those locks and bolts. Gil bites back the retort he’d like to make and summons all his courage. He steps outside the shelter of the window frame and brings his left foot over as well.

And just like that, he’s on his own, thirteen stories high, the breeze brushing over him where he stands pressed against the cold brick, a tiny jut of stone all that’s between him and the dizzying distance to the ground. “Oh God,” he gasps, and he squeezes his eyes closed.

Jasper’s painfully tight grip releases for a second - and that’s even worse, there’s _nothing_ holding him here now _at all_ \- as the man swings after him, hugging the brickwork, facing in while Gil is facing out. The man shoves the gun into the back of his jeans so he can use both hands to dig his fingers in… and for the first time Gil notices another thin ledge of stone, a decorative stripe that’s only an inch or so deep, running along at head height across the wall. It means Jasper has something to grip onto as he inches into position beside him. Gil meanwhile, with his hands locked _behind his goddamn back,_ can’t even stand fully flush against the wall.

“Go on, then,” Jasper says. Gil wants to punch him.

 _Don’t look down._ He keeps his head straight, his eyes fixed on the blue skies and skyscrapers ahead of him, and slides his feet along another inch. _If he passes out, he’s dead. If he panics, he’s dead. If he slips, he’s dead_. He’s starting to think the best case scenario now is that Jasper just shoots him in the head. That way he won’t have to be around for the fall to the ground.

They edge along, inch by agonising inch. After a heart-stopping moment where he catches sight of the cars below him, _the size of lego bricks, God almighty,_ he ends up closing his eyes, and that actually helps. He mustn’t let himself think about where he is - all he allows himself to focus on is his next movement, until it’s almost a routine, a predictable pattern he can lose himself in.

_Slide. Step. Shuffle._

He remembers the last time he was this high up. He'd taken Jackie to Paris for their ten year anniversary. They’d stepped out of the elevator in the middle of the Eiffel Tower and walked right over to the railings of the viewing platform...

_Slide. Step. Shuffle._

The vertigo had come over him all of a sudden, like a bucket of cold water, while Jackie had been leaning over as far as she could get, a laugh on her lips. She’d teased him once they were back on the ground, but up on the platform she’d only taken a second to work past her surprise before she’d understood what was happening.

_Slide. Step. Shuffle._

She’d handled it beautifully, of course. He remembers her murmuring as she'd guided him back down to the ground. The memory is so distinct, her voice so warm and so clear, it almost brings a smile to his face in spite of everything. _You’re doing great hon. Just don’t look down._

 _Still solid advice,_ he thinks, and he's gonna follow it to the letter. He has _no desire_ to see what's below him.

Slide. Step _-_

\- his foot catches on a rough bit of stone and he slips. His eyes slam open - he can’t catch himself, can’t stop his centre of gravity from lurching away from the wall at his back. The fun-size buildings and cars wheel below him -

As Jasper’s hand grabs him by his collar, yanking him roughly back against the brickwork and holding him there. Gil almost collapses off the ledge again then and there. He tries to push aside the gut-freezing fear of those awful few seconds where he was _falling,_ but it’s too late. His legs are trembling too violently now for him to even contemplate taking another step; his heart pounding like a jackhammer; his hands damp with sweat where they’re clenched helplessly against the brickwork. “Oh God,” he mumbles, “oh… Jesus…”

“Keep _going_ ,” demands Jasper, but Gil just shakes his head, his jaw clenched tight with panic. Even his breathing feels like it’s going to unseat him, too frantic and deep _,_ every rise of his chest pulling his weight forward, towards the headlong drop that will kill him. “I said _move!_ ”

“Go to hell,” he manages to grit out, keeping his eyes screwed shut, trying to stave off the overwhelming flood of panic he can feel trying to swallow him. He hears Jasper swearing furiously beside him.

“I’ll throw you off if you don’t fucking _move!_ ” he hisses and Gil wants to scream. There’s nothing he can do to protect himself up here if Jasper decides to make good on his threat - all it would take is a light shove to send him plunging off the ledge - but all the same, he’s rooted in place, transfixed by the terror he can feel threatening to choke him. He can’t even open his eyes. "Move!" 

"I... I can't," he forces out. 

Jasper seems to realise that he’s telling the truth. He swears a few more times… and then Gil feels something brush against his face. He stiffens up even more, pressing himself as hard as he can against the building, but Jasper doesn’t grab him again. Instead he hears a grunt - the warmth of a body sliding against his…

The man is _climbing_ over him, reaching across to grab the narrow ledge on his other side. His every movement jostles Gil as the weight against him wriggles - _shifts_ \- and then it’s gone. Below the thundering in his ears, he hears more grunting. After a minute he manages to crack his eyes open, turning his head infinitesimally to see the man pull up at the next window. When it doesn’t open, he reaches for the gun. Gil can't stop himself flinching from the blast of the weapon at such close range and almost slips off the narrow ledge for a second time.

Jasper kicks the remaining shards of glass out of the window frame and glances back at where he's balanced precariously on the ledge. Gil can’t bring himself to beg, but he _hopes_ the man won’t abandon him out here, when he clearly has so little chance of getting to safety by himself. Jasper’s not a killer - or not a cold-blooded one anyway - and everything that’s happened so far has been borne out of panic and stupidity rather than cruelty.

A look of guilt twists Jasper’s face. For a second, Gil dares to hope…

Then the man’s ducking through the window, and gone.

 _Son of a bitch,_ he thinks vaguely, but it’s hard to feel as mad as he probably should. There’s only so much intense emotion a body can experience at once, and terror is taking centre stage right now.

After a minute, he manages to turn his head to the other side, enough to establish that he’s pretty much equidistant between the two open windows… maybe marginally closer to the one he started out from. He knows he should start trying to edge his way back, but can’t quite bring himself to start. Instead he looks out at the horizon, the serene blue and white of the sky, and tries to get a hold of himself.

It’s not far. Only a few metres, and then he’ll be back at the window, back on solid ground.

The longest few metres of his life.

The wind’s picking up slightly, not enough to jostle him but enough to blur the noise filtering up from underneath him. There’s the growing sounds of a commotion below, trying to grab his attention, but he refuses to look down. Someone’s probably spotted him down on the ground by now, figuring he must be about to jump. _Imagine their surprise when he splats down onto the pavement with his hands cuffed behind his back._

Actually… _don’t._

Gritting his teeth, he slides his left foot along a couple of inches. After a few more seconds, he manages to bring his right to join it. A small sound escapes him as he finishes the motion, a tiny moan of relief that’s swallowed up by the wind.

 _There._ That wasn’t so bad.

Just a few dozen more.

There’s no one to grab him this time if he stumbles. He's not sure if there's anything that might trip him. Even if he risked craning his neck, he wouldn’t be able to see his feet or the ledge below him, not with his chest forced forward by the way his arms are pinned behind his back. _What the hell would Jackie say, if she could see him right now,_ he wonders, and almost immediately he can imagine her voice, speaking to him fondly -

 _I’d say this might be the most ridiculous situation I’ve ever seen you in_. _Just stay calm, honey. Help is coming._

But he’s not entirely convinced he can last that long just balancing here… that he won’t just topple off the ledge even if he stays put. Only his feet and his shoulders are in contact with anything solid - above, below, all around, is just empty air. Vertigo is making his head start to spin, making his fingers slick with sweat against the brick, making his stomach churn with nausea. He turns his head and accidentally lets his eye be drawn down… _down…_ His knees turn to rubber beneath him and the idea that he can last another minute up here, let alone make it all the way back to the window, suddenly seems absurd.

 _I’m sorry, Jackie,_ he thinks, nonsensically. And then: _what a stupid way to go_.

There’s a sudden noise to his left.

“Oh, _shit_ ,” says JT’s voice.

 _Now they get the door open_. He can hear hushed, urgent voices and he turns his head slowly. He’s just in time to see Bright sticking his head out of the window, taking in the situation with an almost comical look of surprise on his face.

“Gil!” In a second he’s scrabbling onto the sill, one hand gripping the window frame to get a better look at him. Just _seeing_ the kid like that brings the reality of just how obscenely _high_ they are crashing back over him, making him light-headed with terror.

“Bright… get the hell down,” he manages. He can’t yell. Just _breathing_ too hard feels like it might unbalance him.

If there’s one thing you can rely on Bright for, it’s that he’ll happily ignore a direct order. He takes in the situation swiftly and edges forward, reaching for the same ledge Jasper used earlier.

“Jesus, kid - don’t -!”

“It’s ok,” calls Bright soothingly, “just stay right there.” _Like_ _he has any choice in the matter._ Gil’s heart flips at the sight of him swinging onto the ledge like a goddamn monkey. He slams his eyes closed, because his blood pressure is high enough right now and the sight of Malcolm balancing above a _thirteen storey drop_ might be the thing that finishes him off.

“Bright, get back inside,” he pleads. “For God’s sake…”

He can hear JT say something else, something Bright answers quickly, and then nothing for a minute. He’s just wondering if he dares cracking an eye open again - _he’ll probably see the kid doing handstands on the ledge -_ when he hears a shuffling sound to his left. It pauses when it gets closer and then Bright says, “Ok just… hold still now…”

Gil admirably restrains himself from pointing out that he can literally do _nothing_ else, and then something brushes past his face, a warm weight pressing into his side. He blinks his eyes open in surprise, to see Malcolm’s face inches in front of him, frowning in concentration. He manoeuvres himself so that he’s grasping the ledge on either side of Gil’s head, planting one foot carefully in between his own. For a second Gil has no idea what he’s doing… and then he realises... Bright’s using his own body to form a kind of _cage_ around him, one that holds him snug against the wall. The kid adjusts his grip, and then his eyes flick to Gil’s face, widening in surprise when he sees the older man now looking back at him. “Hey,” he breathes.

Gil just stares at him, speechless. “You doing ok?” Bright asks, eyes scanning over him in worry, and Gil gives him a look that he hopes expresses what a very stupid question that is. The kid huffs out a laugh and then actually manages to do a little ‘ _can’t blame a guy for asking’_ shrug. His eyes are bright and he’s flushed from adrenaline, but he’s not even shaking. In short, he looks _far_ too relaxed… but his grip seems steady on the wall behind him and Gil’s clawing panic recedes down a few notches.

It spikes again about three seconds later when the kid lets go of the ledge with one hand and reaches delicately around to brush across Gil’s wrists where they're pinned behind him. “Damn... I don’t think I can un-cuff you. At least, not from this position,” he says, looking apologetic.

“Kid…” Gil forces himself to take a few calming breaths, ignoring the way Malcolm is studying him. “I can’t… I can’t catch you if you fall. Please…“

“I’m not gonna fall,” says Bright firmly, with a level of confidence that feels unearned. “Honestly, with your hands free, it’s not even that difficult.”

 _Not that difficult._ “Good to know,” Gil manages. Bright gives him a small smile.

He _does_ seem remarkably steady on his feet. If Gil ignores the heart-stopping idea of Bright himself falling, the feeling of someone else being here beside him, someone who might be able to steady him if he teeters, is doing something to calm the anxiety racing through him. The weight of Bright’s body is both uncomfortable and strangely reassuring… and aside from anything else, the arms on either side of his head and the kid’s worried face right in front of him means there’s no chance of him accidentally getting another glimpse of what’s waiting for him down below.

“So,” says Bright, glancing back at the window, “I figure our options are… we hang out here for a while, til help arrives. Or, we head back to the window. I think the second option’s probably gonna be a lot faster.”

“Yeah. I’m not… I’m not sure I can do that.”

“How about we just try it?” suggests Bright, and Gil is torn between annoyance and a wild kind of hope that he might get the hell down from here a little faster. “One step at a time. We can move in tandem. Like a dance!” he adds, with a flash of inspiration, until Gil gives him a look that makes him hastily amend, “or _not_ like a dance. Ready?”

 _No._ Gil feels frozen to the spot. His legs feel like water.Perhaps sensing he’ll have to lead, Bright slides his hands a couple of inches to the left. Then he just waits, patiently, for Gil to slide his foot about a half-inch in the same direction.

“Alright,” he says, sounding pleased, “just like that.” He shuffles along another half inch himself, matching his speed to Gil’s.

At first Gil can hardly make himself move, his muscles too locked up from tension. He’s terrified a slip won’t just send him plummeting but will knock Bright loose too... but Malcolm’s grip on the ledge behind him is unflinching, as unfazed as if they were a few inches off the ground. Gradually Gil starts to realise that the kid’s actually as steady up here as he claims, and the realisation that he’s not going to accidentally send him toppling to his death helps him to up his pace a little. They shuffle along, with Bright making the odd noise of encouragement and Gil too distracted by terror to engage with him, or with anything beyond the movement of their feet on the ledge. It takes him by surprise when the kid halts and he realises they’ve almost reached the window already, faster than he would have believed possible.

“Give us a hand?” Bright calls over his shoulder. Gil can just glimpse JT, leaning out of the open window, largely hidden by Bright’s arm.

“Hey boss,” he hears, and then Bright’s swinging to his right, his right arm detaching from its spot by his head. A hand comes up to grip his arm on his uncovered side, and -

“One more step,” says Bright easily, and sure enough, he’s back on the broad window-ledge where this whole nightmare started. Bright practically skips into place next to him and between him and JT he’s somehow being turned to face the inside of the room, their hands supporting him as he takes the wobbling step down onto the carpet.

“Nice Houdini act,” he hears JT mutter to Bright, but he doesn’t catch what the kid says by way of an answer because he’s too busy glorying in the _wonderfully_ solid floor below him. He just has time to register the splintered shards of what was previously the apartment’s front door when his knees finally give in. He staggers, almost falling but for the grip on his upper arms.

“Woah - let’s take a seat, yeah?”

Hands guide him forwards until he’s sitting on a couch. He hears JT and Bright muttering between them and then JT's heavy tread disappears, while Bright reaches behind him, unlocking the cuffs. His hands are half numb; the metal cut deeply into each wrist, but he’s been so distracted he barely even noticed. He brings his hands in front of him and clenches his clumsy fingers together in an attempt to stop them shaking.

“Gil…?”

He takes a few more breaths in before he cricks his neck up and looks at the kid who, despite just risking life and limb without even breaking a sweat, now looks suddenly afraid beside him. He attempts a smile and must be partly successful, because the look on the kid’s face fades, replaced by a gentler kind of worry.

“I’m fine, kid,” he croaks out. “Just… “ he waves a wrist vaguely, “re-acclimatising.”

Bright makes a little sound of acknowledgement.He doesn’t move from his spot beside him on the couch, and it warms Gil's heart to know the kid is so concerned about him, even as he wishes he was better able to shake that concern off. _He's gonna have nightmares about Malcolm on that ledge for months_ … but at least he's back on solid ground now and it’s only another minute or two before he’s feeling more like himself again, shaken but fundamentally okay. _That put the Eiffel Tower into perspective_ , he thinks.

He can sense Bright studying him in the corner of his eye and gives him a weak glare.

“Sorry. I just…you have blood…” Bright gestures to the back of his head, where Jasper clocked him.

“Caught me by surprise,” Gil admits. “It's nothing serious.”

“But you’ll be getting it checked out anyway, right?” asks Malcolm slyly. “To set a good example to your team?” Gil huffs out a laugh.

“You were… pretty confident out there,” he says, still not quite able to believe how easily the kid had got them both back in. Bright just shrugs.

“It honestly wasn’t that bad. With your hands free, I mean,” he adds hastily. “I imagine it’s trickier with them stuck behind your back.”

“All the same,” says Gil, “that was… _insanely_ dangerous, kid. I don’t want you taking those kinds of risks for me. If you’d - Jesus, if you’d even _slipped_ \- “

“I wasn’t gonna slip -”

“You didn't _know_ that!”

“Gil, I knew I could do it! I’m fine with heights, and you…” he trails off, as if he’s been caught out.

“I… what?”

“You… maybe… aren’t super comfortable in high places?” Bright looks at him apologetically, and Gil feels his eyebrows shooting up his head.

“Who the hell told you that?!” he demands.

“Nobody! Nobody, it was just a… a guess,” says the kid defensively. “We’ve worked enough cases together. Sometimes involving rooftops, and you know.” He shrugs, as if to say _I’m a profiler, I can’t help it_. “It was just a… feeling I picked up. Anyway… I wasn’t gonna _leave_ you there.” His eyes dart back to Gil again, trying to figure out if he’s actually mad.

Gil gets to his feet, ignoring Bright hovering beside him as if he’s about to keel over, and is gratified when his legs hold steady underneath him. “Are you sure you’re ok?” Bright asks, and Gil looks at him.

“Come here.” Ignoring the bewildered look on his face, he pulls him into a hug. “Thanks, kid,” he murmurs. “I don’t ever wanna see you doing something that stupid again, but… thanks.”

They step apart and Bright smiles up at him. “You fancy getting out of here?”

“God, yes,” Gil mutters. They walk slowly towards the shrapnel in the doorway, and if the kid is walking closer to his side than usual, Gil decides not to point it out. He picks his way through the splinters of wood out into the corridor, where he’s gonna ride the elevator all the way down to the ground floor and then he’s gonna have a _very_ stiff drink.

He suddenly remembers. “Jasper?”

“Dani got him on his way out of the building.” _Ah._

“And… just so I can prepare myself for the paperwork… what the hell did you do to the door?”

Bright’s face lights up. “We commandeered a chainsaw. From maintenance!”

“Of course you did,” says Gil, with a resigned sigh, but he can almost hear Jackie’s delighted laugh as the elevator doors draw closed behind them.


End file.
